


Three Strands to a Braid

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Canon Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marking, Pining, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: It would be easier if Bull stopped looking, but he can't stop, and he keeps seeing the marks Bill and Johnny leave on each other's bodies.
Relationships: Bill Guarnere/Johnny Martin, Bill Guarnere/Johnny Martin/Bull Randleman
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme





	Three Strands to a Braid

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Loose Lips Sink Ships prompt: "Established Bill/Johnny where Bill keeps leaving marks on Johnny, and Bull keeps seeing them and being sick with jealous pining, until he snaps at them (over the matching tattoos?) and it ends in an OT3."

"Hey, Johnny!"

Bull didn't look up from the M1 he had spread out on the table in front of him, but he was pretty sure his eyes narrowed slightly. It wasn't quite a tick, like the one his aunt Bert'd had, but only because he still had control over it. Bull was pretty sure it was going to turn into one soon.

"Guarnere," Johnny replied, almost visibly perking up at the sound of his best friend's voice. He'd just been starting to take his own rifle apart in preparation for cleaning it, but now snapped the bolt back in and stood up. "What's the word?"

"All good," Guarnere told him. He wasn't really ignoring Bull, not like Bull was pointedly ignoring him, but he was definitely talking just to Johnny when he said, "Say, got something you might be interested in. Like we talked about before."

"That so?" Johnny asked, and Bull could hear the smile in his voice without even looking. You wouldn't think a man who spent so much time building a reputation of someone who was angry at everyone and everything would smile so much, but anyone who thought Johnny was a misanthrope had never seen him look at Guarnere.

Bull concentrated on reaming out the barrel, which hadn't been fired since last time he'd done this and didn't need it. "Huh?" he asked when Johnny's voice raised in a question.

"Said I'll be back soon, okay, Bull?" He patted Bull's shoulder, and Bull's hands clenched briefly before he shrugged.

"Don't hurry on account of me," he muttered, wishing he had more grace to summon. He'd been looking forward to the half hour of companionable silence sitting next to Johnny while they looked after their weapons and maybe even polished their boots. Hell, Bull would have done Johnny's boots for him, if only he'd sit next to him. That probably would have given him away, though.

It didn't matter. With Guarnere there, Johnny didn't even notice Bull was in the same room. He gave Bull another absent pat, and followed Bill out of the barracks off to find whatever scrap of privacy they'd dug up this time.

Bull waited until they were both gone before he sighed and set down the rifle barrel. He gave himself one moment to feel well and truly sorry for himself, to regret that even though Johnny had turned up queer, he still wasn't interested in Bull, or maybe it was just that Bull had been too slow to move, and Guarnere had gotten there first. Whatever the case, Johnny and Guarnere regularly slunk off to find a dark corner, and Bull was left only with the vividness of his imagination.

He found it all too easy to picture their arms wrapped around each other, hips grinding and mouths hot and eager. Still, some of the details eluded him. What kind of sounds did Johnny make when Guarnere put his hand down his pants? Who was the first to drop to his knees?

Taking a long, slow breath, Bull spread his hands out on the table in front of him and kept them there until he had a hold of himself again. It'd been months since those two had started hooking up, all the way back in Toccoa. Moping about it wouldn't change a thing. He should be happy that Johnny had found someone he liked. Several someones, from the way he also talked about his wife.

None of this was Bull's business, anyhow.

That afternoon, Sobel had them all on a fifteen mile hike through the swamp. Camp Mackall had deprived the black swan of mountains to send them up, so he did what he could with wetlands.

"True to fucking form," Luz grumbled.

Bull had just made corporal, and should probably say something, but decided not to bother. He swatted a mosquito a second too late, smearing blood across his hand and neck, and kept moving.

Those who were the fastest and had the sharpest elbows got the first showers, or, in Bull's case, those who moved like the mountain and rolled over anyone who got in his way. Guarnere and Johnny were in the first round as well, and Bull let himself have one look at Johnny's naked body—how the trails of mud and water followed the contours of his muscles making his skin look like some kind of fancy painting—before looking away. He didn't want to be one of those sad, comedy pansies who obsessed over men he couldn't have, so he only let himself just a glance each time. In the army world of naked men, it was enough.

Not looking at Johnny ended up with Bull's eyes landing on Guarnere, who was bending to pull a leech off of his ankle. Their bodies were usually all over bruises and scrapes, that just came with training as hard as they did. Bull had seen bruised asses from jump training, bruised backs from falls off the eight-foot wall, and bruised hips from the belts of their rucks and the pull of their harnesses. They had bug bites and leech bites and scratches from branches. Bull had never seen a bright pink mark with a dark centre on the inside of a man's thigh. Rather, he had seen one, but not in the context of military service.

Bull looked away, but his mind was already full of the image of Johnny kneeling between Guarnere's spread legs, his lips fixed to the softest part of the inside of his thigh, sucking hard enough to raise a mark. Guarnere's dick would have been hard and rubbing against Johnny's hair, maybe leaving a trail of come there. In his imagining, Guarnere's face was just as sharp as Johnny's had been.

"Shit," Bull muttered, and he meant to look away, but he couldn't seem to move.

It wasn't fair that they should be so damn right for each other. Johnny had his wife, and he had Guarnere, and Guarnere everyone loved, no matter that most of them wanted to punch him out half the time. He was beautiful and confident, and always meant well, no matter how it came out of his mouth. Guarnere looked after his boys, protected them from the officers as best he could. Bull had been so busy being jealous of him and Johnny together that he hadn't thought until that moment that maybe he wouldn't have turned Guarnere down if he'd asked Bull instead of Johnny. Though of course he hadn't. Who would ask Bull when they could have Johnny? Who would ask Bull when they could have Guarnere?

Bull was staring, his eyes fixed on the line of red running from the leech bite. It trickled Guarnere's ankle before mixing with the muddy suds obscuring the shower floor. Guarnere, still bent over to prod at the injury, was looking up at Bull questioningly.

"You'll wanna put some iodine on that," Bull found himself saying. "It'll slow the bleeding some."

Guarnere looked surprised, likely because Bull had never found he had much to say to him since he and Johnny had taken up, but nodded thanks.

Bull wanted to say something about putting ice on the hickey, too, or at least something about maybe they should be more careful, and not leave obvious marks on each other, but this wasn't the time of place. Bull didn't think anything would be the time or place. Besides which, he'd only noticed because he'd been looking. He didn't think most of the guys would spot a mark like that.

Two weeks later, a bunch of them managed to wrangle weekend passes, and went into Fayetteville to booze it up. Sobel gigged Bull at the last minute for wearing his garrison cap at an incorrect angle, and Bull spent the weekend on KP with the rest of the unfortunates. At least it wasn't latrine duty.

So he missed Guarnere and Johnny breaking away from the rest of the guys and vanishing until they had to run to make the bus back, but he heard about it from Luz on Monday morning. "Just about got drummed out," Luz summarised, "and Gonorrhoea didn't even have his jacket on or his shirt done up, so you could see this _bite_ on his neck, and I'm not talking about a bug bite, either."

"Christ," Bull muttered. He didn't need to see that to picture it, and picture how he'd gotten it, too.

"Jeeze, Bull," Luz said, "I know you're from the sticks, but there's girls who like to..."

Bull smacked him on the back of the head out of general principle, but he was relieved that everyone had jumped to the most obvious source of love bites.

When he saw Guarnere later, the edge of the bite was visible above his collar. Before Sobel could come around and gig him too, Bull went over and tugged Guarnere's tie tighter, lifting the collar to cover the mark. Guarnere grinned at him and clapped Bull's shoulder in thanks. _You're a pal,_ his eyes said, and, _Guess who got lucky this weekend!_ His eyes crinkled until they almost disappeared, and he looked so damn happy that Bull almost choked on it.

Bull nodded and fell into his place. By some miracle, they passed inspection. As a reward, they got to hike through the swamp again.

It went like that all through Mackall, and through Breckenridge, and up to Sturgis. Bull learned all kinds of things Bill and Johnny liked to do to each other, just from the marks they left on each other's skin. Johnny came back with rope burns on his wrists once, and Bill had a-connect-the-dots of teeth marks and hickeys almost every time he came back in from anywhere, even just armoury inspection.

How no one else seemed to have noticed that it was Bill and Johnny's proximity that led to the marks, not the company of skirts, no matter what Bill claimed, Bull didn't know. Maybe they had noticed and were keeping their traps shut, same as Bull. At least none of the officers seemed to see this kind of thing. Bull didn't know what he'd do if the men he cared about as much as his own life got blue tickets because they couldn't keep their flies closed.

Telling a man who everyone was now calling "Wild Bill" to be careful didn't seem like it would help any, and for all that Johnny was the more sensible of the two, all that seemed like it went out the window when it came to Bill.

Bull had never been loved, or even lusted after, with that much abandon, and thought it must be nice. Maybe if one or the other of them had wanted him, he'd have lost his head and started taking risks too.

He got a break for the length of the sea voyage to England, and then they picked up again like they'd never paused in Aldbourne. The NCOs were allowed to rent billets rather than staying stacked into the converted stables. When Bull first heard about the arrangement, he was afraid that Bill and Johnny would get a cottage together and never emerge. Even the officers would notice that, and the temptation of living together would be too much. Someone was bound to slip up and see something they shouldn't. Bull almost said something then, but in the end decided to keep his trap shut.

Thankfully, Bill split a place with Boyle and a couple of other guys, and Johnny said he was saving up and wanted to stay in the barracks.

Not that separate sleeping quarters had ever slowed them down. They still managed to inspect this or that together or get lost in the woods at the same time, and Bull still regularly saw the marks of enthusiastic sex scattered across their bodies, each one bringing to Bull's mind a new image of debauchery.

Bull knew that he was doing this to himself. It would be easy enough to manage the rush for the showers so that he was never in a room with Guarnere while he was naked. Johnny was another matter, in that they still shared barracks in the stables, but even that could be avoided. Bull could stop looking, if he wanted to.

The problem, clearly, was that Bull didn't want to stop looking.

With Sobel finally deposed, they started getting passes more often. At least half the company went into the local cities almost every weekend, and London often enough to know where the good bars were and where a Yank would get ripped off.

Some time around the middle of December, Johnny and Bill showed up like the double act they always seemed to be these days, shaking rain off their coats in synchrony. Bull was trudging through a letter home, hoping the v-mail would make it over the ocean in time for the holidays. At least the forms didn't leave much room to fill, as Bull didn't know he had much to say that Lieutenant Winters wouldn't censor.

Johnny pulled up a chair and spun it to sit astride it, and Bill balanced one hip on the side of the table, which rocked precariously enough that Bull grabbed the edge to steady it.

"So," Johnny started.

Bill picked up without a pause, "We was thinking of heading into the big smoke to ring in some of that holiday cheer the newsreels keep yapping on about."

Johnny added, as if Bull hadn't heard, "Meehan said we could take the whole week, so long as we stay on the same island. If we work it right, we can spend Christmas and New Years in Jolly Old London Town. What'd ya think?"

"Sounds mighty fine," Bull said. He looked from Johnny to Bill and smiled in a way that he hoped conveyed his blessing. "I hope y'all have a nice time."

"Well," Bill said, and this time Johnny picked up from him. They really should just get married.

"We was wondering if you wanted to come with us," Johnny said.

Bull had more or less pictured this holiday as the two of them spending seven days in bed together, emerging for booze and maybe every so often food. "Kind of you to ask, and all," Bull said carefully, "But I was thinking I'd just stick around here. The Old Man's putting on a dinner for us, and I dunno, I figured..."

Johnny was frowning at him like Bull was a real disappointment, which Bull didn't get. It was kind of them to pull a friend along on their adventure, but Bull didn't think he could handle being so close to their intimacy and yet eternally shut out. Normally, he'd do whatever it took to make Johnny stop scowling at him, but this wasn't something he was willing to budge on.

"Hey," Bill said, leaning down to put his hand on Bull's shoulder. It was close enough to his neck that Bill's fingers brushed the bare skin above Bull's collar. "I know youse ain't into painting the town red like us two, but we'd find something you'd like. I hear the shows are real good, and..." he dropped off as he saw Bull doggedly shaking his head.

"Good of you," Bull said, "But I'd just as soon stay here, all right?" He had more edge in his voice on the last word than he'd intended, but he didn't understand why they were pressing him like this. It was like they were holding up a treat only to snatch it away if he ever dared to reach for it. Only neither of them had it in him to be so cruel to a friend. Besides, Bull had made sure they hadn't realised he was interested. They were just trying to make sure their friend didn't spend Christmas alone. "Luz and Perco are staying, too."

Bill and Johnny exchanged a look over Bull's head. Johnny shrugged and Bill spread his hands in surrender. "Suit yourself," Bill said, "but you're missing out."

Bull was well aware, but he shrugged and turned back to his letter.

A week later found him regretting it his choice. The Christmas dinner Colonel Sink had put on had been a miracle in rationed England, and the church services and parties had been well enough, but the doldrums that followed felt as though they were dragging Bull under.

Even playing third wheel to Johnny and Bill barely able to keep their hands off of each other in public had to be better than moping around Aldbourne in sleeting sideways rain that made him miss winters in Michigan. There wasn't much to do but stay inside and either read or listen to the radio. Malarkey had a perpetual craps game going, but Bull didn't have much heart for dice, and couldn't seem to care for cards much either.

Luz found Bull lying on his bunk in the largely empty barracks, staring up at the planks of the bunk above him and listlessly chewing the end of an unlit cigar. He was letting his mind drift to what Bill and Johnny were likely doing just then, which was going to start to make him hard if he didn't knock it off. There was no place to do anything about that here, but the little game of tease and denial was better than thinking of what his Ma and sisters were doing back home or of what was going on in the rest of Europe. No matter that it wasn't right to think about his friends like that, the only alternative Bull could see was lying there and feeling awfully sorry for himself, and he'd already done more of that than he could stand.

"Hey, Randleman." Luz dropped onto the edge of the bunk at Bull's feet, and leaned back against the bedpost.

Bull nodded slightly.

"You've been kinda down lately, huh?" Luz asked.

"Guess I have," Bull muttered. He didn't really want to deal with whatever Luz's idea of bucking something up was going to be like, so he lied. "Homesick, is all."

Luz's face twisted in sympathy and he patted Bull's knee. "Lotta the boys missing home these days," he said. "War ain't so fun when you miss Christmas."

Bull grunted in response. Other than last year, he hadn't been home for the holidays much anyway. His foundry job up in Michigan had rarely allowed enough time off to get all the way back down to Arkansas. Bull had gotten used to not having family close, and he didn't know why it felt different this year.

"It's being so far away," Luz mused. "Knowing you couldn't go home even if you wanted to." For the company clown, he had amazingly expressive dark eyes, and the way his hair fell across his forehead when he didn't have his cover on, made him look like the kid in the movies who always told the hero it was going to be okay. Looking at him in the soft light of the barracks, it was hard to remember he was barely six months younger than Bull. "Course, it could just be the fucking weather. What's with this rain, huh?"

Bull sighed. "You thinking to sit here cheering me up all day?"

"Nah, I got a whole list of sad sacks to talk outta crying into drinks. Beer's bad enough here as it is," Luz said, but he didn't get up. Luz's hand was still on Bull's knee, and combined with his thoughts from before, the situation was going to start getting dangerous if one of them didn't move.

Bull didn't know if Luz was the kind of guy who was up for a quick exchange of pleasure with a buddy or not, though Bull suspected he was, but considering that felt like an obscure sort of betrayal. Luz wasn't the one he wanted. Luz was just trying to be kind to a buddy, just like Bill and Johnny had tried to invite him along. Bull should've gone to London. No matter how jealous he got of them, it couldn't be worse than what he was feeling now. His throat tightened at the thought, and he could feel tears stinging his eyes. He looked away, but knew it was too late.

"Oh, Bull," Luz said softly.

"Sorry," Bull muttered, covering his face with his arm. He pulled in a couple of long, hitching breaths until he pushed the tears back enough to speak. "I don't know what's the matter with me."

"Well," Luz pulled out the word so it was long, like he had to think it over, even though he was always the kind of guy who had the answer ready. "At a guess, I'd say it's 'cuz you're ten thousand miles from home, in a strange country, you ain't seen your Ma in a year, and your best friends went to London without you, and you just spent Christmas with nobody but me and Frank Perconte for company. If I didn't have an indefatigably sunny disposition, I'd be a little choked up too."

Bull snorted, and rubbed his eyes against the crook of his elbow until the sting was from the rough cotton of his blouse, not the tears. "Just need to get my head out of my ass," he said. "Ain't nothing wrong with me that I ain't doing to my own self." He made himself sit up, crossing his legs so he didn't push Luz off the bed. It was enough to shake Luz's hand loose. "Figure we got enough trouble coming up without needing to borrow none."

"Well, if you ever want help finding more trouble, you know who to ask," Luz said. He leaned in and rested his forehead against Bull's just for a moment, almost like they'd kissed, and Bull felt his chest clench. Then Luz flashed a grin at him and hopped off the bed. "Hang tough," he said, in a perfect central Pennsylvanian accent, and vanished out of the barracks.

Bull laughed and watched him go. Good old Luz. Maybe it wasn't so bad to be left on base after all.

When Bill and Johnny came back, hungover and sated, Bull clapped them both on the shoulder then pulled them into twin sideways hugs and decided that his life would be better if he could just be happy for them. Maybe they didn't have much longer left in the world anyway. What was the point in moping over things he couldn't have when there was so much to live for in the meantime?

Two days after New Years, Bill had a bunch of the guys over to his billet to play cards and talk shit. It was mostly his usual cadre of second platoon NCOs, plus Johnny, Boyle, Luz and Bull. A couple of games were going, but everyone was listening to Bill's account of the girl he'd met in London over the holidays, in graphic detail.

"You ever go to a rodeo?" Bill asked, and when a couple of guys nodded, he carried on, "So I was going like one of them bronco horses, a thump and a boom and a bucking all over the place, and her, she was like them broads in the tight jeans and cowboy hats, you know, like a cowgirl, riding the hell out of me. Christ, she was tight, too. And her ass. Youse wouldn't believe her ass."

Malarkey called bullshit immediately, and then he and Bill were off in regards to his veracity, and where one might find the lady in question. Bull took the chance to shoot Johnny a look, and then did a double take when he saw the brush of colour across his cheeks, and the proud little smile playing at his lips. Johnny caught Bull looking and narrowed his eyes at him, but it was too late.

"Cowgirl my ass," Bull muttered. He knew exactly who'd ridden Bill so hard, and who had the tight ass the guys wouldn't believe. Trust Bill to find a way to brag about his lover in front of him, and lead all the guys astray at the same time.

The thing that got to Bull, though, was that Johnny liked it. Did he like Bill saying filthy things while they were in bed too? He must. It wasn't like anything on Earth could shut that man up. Except maybe if he had his mouth busy with Johnny's cock, and Bull would put money down that even then Bill would try to talk.

Now, Bull was thinking about Johnny riding Bill, _and_ about Bill sucking Johnny's cock.

"And, boy, I tell you," Bill was saying, "The second I was done, still seeing shooting stars like Kraut Ack Ack, she wants to go for another round. It's a godamned miracle I can still walk after a week of that."

Toye said something dripping with mock sympathy, and the rest of them started in on Bill again. Johnny was still smirking, leaning against a shelf in a corner rather than playing, looking like he'd be happy to spend the night listening to Bill talk up his sexual prowess.

Bull, on the other hand, had had enough. He folded and started gathering his money, muttering that it'd been a lousy hand anyway. He was only playing because Johnny was there, and now being near Johnny felt like too much. It wasn't even Bill's fault. Bull had made damn sure no one knew how he felt, so he didn't have anyone to blame but himself when one of Bill's daredevil moods ended up bruising Bull's feelings.

He should be over this by now. It had been over a year since Bill and Johnny had started hooking up, and they showed no sign of slowing down. If anything, they were getting bolder and more blatant. Every time they came back from leave, they told stories that were easier to read.

As close as Easy was, Bull was afraid that not everyone would stand for how obvious these two were. All it would take was one wrong word to the wrong officer, and both of Bull's friends would be sent home in disgrace.

He both didn't want to be around to see it, and knew that he wouldn't be able to look away if it happened.

Tonight, however, he was going to walk away before they drove him mad.

Bull got up and headed for the door, murmuring a subdued goodnight to Luz as he passed.

He was settling his garrison cap on his hair and striding back towards the barracks when he heard someone jogging after him. He didn't have to look to see it was Johnny. They knew each other by sound in the dark by now.

"Bull!" Johnny called out as Bull didn't slacken his pace. When Bull sighed and came to a halt, Johnny grabbed at his sleeve. He'd been drinking and was a little unsteady even after a short jog. "Bull," he said again.

Bull had half a mind to shake loose of Johnny and tell him to leave him alone, but he didn't have the heart. Johnny hadn't done anything wrong. Even now he'd come around in front of Bull and was trying to read his expression in the darkness of a blacked out town on a moonless night. Bull could smell the whiskey on his breath from a foot away.

"Something the matter with you?" Johnny asked when he'd given up on being able to see in the dark.

"Naw, tired is all," Bull said, then couldn't help adding, "and times I can't say as I care for Guarnere's filthy mouth."

"Ha. Didn't know you was a prude." Johnny tried to smack Bull in the arm and ended up patting his chest. He really was hammered.

"I ain't," Bull protested, but only half heartedly. He'd already said enough that Bill would start calling him a Quaker like he called their XO, and Bull didn't know if he'd be able to stand that. In a futile attempt to ward off teasing, he added, "It's more like when a fellow's talking about a Sunday roast with all the fixing, and the fellow he's talking to ain't eaten in a fair while. It ain't the man with the roast's fault for enjoying his meal, but the hungry man don't always want to hear about it, neither."

For a moment, he thought he'd said too much, given something away. Johnny's hand had stilled and was now lying flat against Bull's chest, spread over his heart and warm through the fabric of his blouse and jacket combined. "Didn't know you felt like that," Johnny said, and Bull wondered if he could feel that Bull's heart had just about stopped. "Always thought you were..." Bull felt as much as saw Johnny shrugging in the dark. "Always thought you were happy, I guess." He sounded disappointed in himself, emotion exaggerated by the drink, and Bull's heart clenched at the thought.

He hadn't meant to make Johnny feel guilty, or maybe a small, bitter part of him had, but he shouldn't have let it have so much sway. It wouldn't end up doing either of them any good. Bull caught Johnny's shoulder with one hand and patted his neck with the other. "I'm all right," he said. "Just tired and feeling soppy. You go on back to the game. I'll be right as rain come morning."

Bull tried to pull away, but Johnny brought up both hands to hang onto Bull's wrist, keeping his hand on Johnny's neck. They were standing so close that all Bull would have had to do was bend down a little, and their faces would brush together. Johnny was drunk enough that he probably wouldn't mind, might not even remember. Bill would have every right to beat the ever living shit out of Bull if he tried anything right now.

"It's all right, Johnny," Bull said and stepped back, gently twisting out of Johnny's hold. Johnny swayed on his feet but didn't fall. "You go on back to Bill. Go on." Bull wondered for a moment if he'd have to escort Johnny back to Bill's place, but he stumbled away on his own. Bull watched the shadow among shadows, and sighed faintly.

He felt strangely heartened that Johnny had come after him, had noticed that he'd been unhappy, but at the same time, he hadn't meant to admit so much. Hopefully, Johnny was too far down the bottle to remember any of it. More likely, he'd tell Bill, and the two of them would try to come up with some means of procuring female companionship for Bull. Just when it had seemed like things couldn't get worse.

But with turn into the new year, the brass stepped up the training schedule, and no one in the 101st had time to think about much past orders. Bull could tell that Bill and Johnny still managed time to themselves, but they didn't have any extra to worry about him, and that was all to the best. They had platoons to lead and new officers to whip into shape, and the growing feeling that all of this was going to be far, far too real soon enough.

Bill found out his favourite brother was dead a little more than twenty four hours before the big jump. Bull heard about it from Johnny, just a few murmured words while they were organising into sticks, but didn't see Bill until D-Day plus one. In the meantime, Bull had killed four men, one with his bare hands, and his heart ached almost too hard to stand. Johnny didn't seem phased one way or the other, which worried Bull as much as the guys who looked shaken to pieces, but Bill was all quicksilver moods, like the old stories about the warriors who sang for joy as they killed. Bill was the one who notched his kills into the stock of his rifle, and talked lightly about what he'd done to who, but in the next moment, his arm would be warm and close around Bull's shoulder, more affectionate than he'd ever been before.

Bull didn't know if it was the news, the first taste of combat, or both, but the boys started using "Wild Bill" a lot more than "Gonorrhoea," and meaning it.

Johnny wasn't saying much about it, but Bull could tell that Bill's attitude worried him more than any fear of a German bullet seemed to.

The moment they were back on English soil, Johnny whisked Bill off up to Scotland or somewhere to get his head sorted out. They asked if Bull wanted to go, like they had at Christmas, and like he had then, Bull said he was fine where he was. This time, he wasn't sure he even wished he could go, not when he said it, anyway.

Bull was having trouble getting the look on that German kid's face out of his head, the one who'd been close enough to smell his breath when Bull had put a bayonet through his heart. And the other kid, who'd been younger than Jackson, who he'd...

It had been dark, and Bull hadn't been thinking. The years of training had replaced any angels of better nature he might have had. Only, putting it like that felt even more frightening, as though Bull hadn't been in control of his own body, the army had. He didn't like that idea much, and tried to push it away, but it dogged his dreams. He'd wake having killed someone he loved, his arms having raised the rifle of their own volition, like a puppet with its strings pulled.

Bull didn't know how many of the other guys felt like that. Certainly he wasn't the only man in the barracks to wake thrashing in the night, but none of the others talked about combat any more than Bull did. Or, if they did, they were all spunk and bravado, as if what had happened had glanced off their armour, and nothing in the world could touch them. Winters, Captain Winters now, had just given Bull another set of stripes, and he didn't want any of the boys to think their new squad sergeant wasn't up to whatever was asked of him. The way Luz told it, Bull was one of two men who'd fought close quarters like that, and even the other combat vets looked at him like he'd done something remarkable.

Captain Winters had told them all to take it easy for the first few weeks back, but Bull found that he was leading the replacements through PT every day just to keep his mind busy and his body worn through enough to sleep. He wished he'd gone on leave with Johnny and Bill. He hoped they were doing better than he was.

It seemed like they had been. Bull came into the mess two weeks after they got back and stopped short at the sound of Bill's machine gun laugh. He was rolling his sleeve up to show Malarkey something, which was even more puzzling as Johnny was doing the same.

Bull circled to see what everyone was gawking at, and finally got a clear view of Bill and Johnny with their forearms exposed, each pink and a little swollen and cut through with the identical darkly-inked lines of a deployed parachute with a tiny soldier clinging to the risers.

Bull sucked in a sharp breath, found he was shaking, and turned and walked out of the mess into the warm summer rain.

He caught movement as someone followed him, but this time he didn't stop Bull kept walking, knowing that even without breaking into a run he could cover ground faster than most men in the company. He heard boots jogging behind him, Johnny then Bill calling his name, but he couldn't stop. He started to run.

His head was ringing, and his vision had gone dark around the edges, and he thought that if he stopped moving he might freeze in place or pass out. Before long, Bull's legs carried him to a deserted copse of beeches outside of the town proper. They were in full leaf of summer, and the sound of the rain on the leaves was enough to calm Bull down some. It didn't quite sound like the aspens back home, but it was close enough to slow Bull's heart. He'd been panting like he'd just run six miles, and he leaned against one of the tree trunks, letting his head drop until he could catch his breath. Bull didn't hear anything past the rain on the leaves and the wind rustling the branches.

It seemed like whoever'd been following him had given up and let him run away, but then he heard a jeep engine, and tires on the muddy farm access road that ran alongside the trees. They'd all spent the last year doing manoeuvres across these farms, and knew the area like they'd been born there.

Bull stayed where he was and waited. He should have known that running just made people chase you. He should have just slipped out. Now there would be a fuss.

"Bull?" Johnny asked, and a second later he'd pushed his way through the bushes at the edge of the trees. Bill was right behind him. "Bull, what the hell's that matter with you? Are you sick?"

Johnny stopped a few feet away and folded his arms. He'd done up his sleeve, but it'd ridden up enough that Bull could see the edge of pink skin just above his watch band. Bill stood shoulder to shoulder with Johnny, hands jammed in his pockets. He looked better than he had when they'd gotten back from Normandy, more colour in his face, eyes steady not flicking around him. He also looked worried as hell.

Bull straightened and wiped his hand over his mouth. He felt nauseous. He certainly knew that he was sick and tired of thinking about Johnny's bullshit. "What the fuck are you two thinking?" he snapped.

Johnny rocked back on his heels. Bull had never yelled at or sworn at him before, at least not outside of combat. "About what?" he demanded.

Stepping forward, Bull grabbed Johnny's wrist and yanked the sleeve up so hard the button popped off. "These! Matching tattoos? If you want a blue discharge so bad, why don't you just let Bill fuck you on the Old Man's desk?"

"Hey—" Bill started to protest, but Bull rolled right over him.

"You think people don't see the way you are? There ain't a man on this base who don't look at you and see, and no fancy Silver Star gone protect you when they decide enough is enough. Then what the fuck am I going to do?" Bull dropped Johnny's arm like it had scorched him and stepped away. He wanted to run again, but he'd made this mess and he was going to face up to it.

Bill and Johnny shared another one of those _looks_ , this one ending with Bill putting a hand on Johnny's chest like he was holding him in place, stopping a fight. Maybe he was; Johnny had gone white, and his arms had tightened across his chest as he balled his hands into fists. If he let loose and socked Bull one, it wouldn't surprise Bull.

But Bill said, "Hey, that ain't how it is. Them officers, they never see what's past the end of their noses. You know that. I don't know why you got yourself all wound up about this all of a sudden, but it ain't nothing we done. Half the company's got tattoos. Hell, you know Lieutenant Compton has _Jerry_ right on his arm, and that ain't raised no eyebrows, 'cept mine."

Normally, talking to anyone else, Bill would have had his chest puffed up and his chin out, trying to power someone down, or get them to box with him. This time, he'd pitched his voice low, reasonable, as if he were talking to a man who'd frozen under fire and still had his rifle clutched tight.

Bull was standing frozen in place, and he was starting to understand that he was furious at his friends, and he didn't know why. A little boy voice inside him was telling him it wasn't fair that they got to go away and be happy and wear the marks of it on their skin, now for the rest of their lives, and Bull was left all alone. He was so damn tired of not knowing how he felt, and now he was soaked to the skin, and the rain didn't feel nearly so warm, for all that it was July.

Johnny still looked like he wanted to hit Bull, like he probably would have already if it weren't for Bill's hand on his chest. "What the hell's matter with you?" he demanded again, and shook his head sharply when Bill said something low in his ear. "What the fuck are you pissed off at us for?"

Nausea rose, burning Bull's throat. He had no answer for Johnny. Bill had been right, no one would notice the significance of the tattoos unless they already knew. Bull was the one more likely to draw attention to them with his anger and panic. Bull's gaze on them could be like a searchlight pointing out the company queers to anyone who cared to look.

Bull should have followed his own resolve months ago and not let himself even fantasise any more. It wasn't right, what he'd been doing. It wasn't fair to Johnny or Bill. He wiped his hand over his mouth again. The flood of anger leaving him left a hollow feeling behind it, the feeling he'd been trying to push back since they'd gotten back to England.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice heavy, seeming to cling to his throat like the wet cotton of his uniform. "I don't have no right to talk like that. Not 'bout neither of you." He almost said he didn't know what'd come over him, or what he'd been thinking, but he choked on the words and dropped his eyes to his feet so he didn't have to look at his friends any more. There wasn't any point trying to run from them again. They'd only find him eventually. Johnny was his platoon sergeant now, if nothing else. "Sorry," he muttered again. "I..."

He didn't look up, but he could picture the look Bill and Johnny exchanged all the same.

"How long you known about us?" Johnny asked, and his voice was soft like Bill's now, soft enough that it made Bull's heart clench.

"Since the day after we got our jumpwings," Bull admitted.

Bill whistled. "Jesus Christ, so right from the get go? Huh."

"Shit," Johnny muttered. "Maybe Bull's right. We ain't been half as careful as we shoulda."

"Don't irrigate me." Bill waved dismissively, the motion sliding through the edge of Bull's vision. Bull could feel the heat of Bill's gaze on him and looked up. Bill was looking right through to Bull's soul. If Bull could have melted into the tree trunk at his back, he would have, but as it was he just stood like a sentry and listened to Bill say, "No one who weren't looking woulda seen a damn thing."

"Shit," Johnny said again, "but..." he broke off, and stepped in closer to Bull, moving in until they were almost chest to chest. This time, Bill didn't try to hold him back. "But we asked you," he said, almost whining. "I thought you was maybe interested, so we asked you, and you said you weren't."

"What?" Bull demanded. He hadn't had his head on straight since he'd jumped, but he definitely wouldn't have missed that. "When?"

"At Christmas," Johnny persisted, though behind him, Bill had his face in his hands in exasperation. "We asked you, and then we asked again just now, if you wanted to go up to Scotland."

Bull shook his head. "You asked me to come into London with you. I didn't want to spoil your fun, being a third wheel and all. Same as just now."

"But..." Johnny couldn't seem to get his head around what Bull was saying, which balanced out Bull having no clue what they were talking about at this point.

Bill seemed to have given up on the whole thing, and was muttering something under his breath, and if Bull had his choice, he'd go back to the barracks and sleep until he forgot they'd said any of this. He wished he could roll the whole last half hour back like playing a film backwards, get back to where he'd walked into the mess, and this time not say anything. He'd worked so hard these past few years to keep all this to himself, and now they knew. Now they'd pity him, and Bull didn't think his heart could take that on top of everything else. He shivered and rubbed his arms, which only made his sodden uniform feel colder and wetter.

"For fuck's sake!" Johnny snapped and stomped off towards the jeep, branches whipping as he shoved through them.

"So," Bill said when he'd gone. "He was a little sore about you turning us down before."

Bull hugged himself tighter. It couldn't be less than sixty degrees out, and he was still starting to shiver so hard his teeth chattered. Usually his bulk kept him warm, no matter what the weather, but he was just so damn tired of all of this. It seemed like a feather would knock him over, let alone the kind of body blows he'd been taking. He didn't understand what Johnny had been saying about Christmas. "You ain't ever asked me," Bull insisted. "If I thought you'd asked, either of you, Bill, I..."

"Hey," Bill said softly. He stepped in and slid his arm around Bull's waist, tugging him forward and sideways. "It don't matter now, come on back to my place, and we'll sort it all out."

Wild Bill being kind seemed like it might frighten Bull more than his more mercurial moods in Normandy. Still, he let Bill guide him through the undergrowth and across a small ditch, now swelling with rain, to the jeep, where Johnny was already sitting in the driver's seat, looking like he was two seconds from leaving them both there in the rain.

Bill gestured Bull into the other front seat, maybe so he could keep an eye on him from the back, and none of them said anything until they pulled up in front of Bill's house.

"Where's Leo?" Bull asked, and Bill shrugged.

"Off with that broad of his," he said. "If he's lucky, he won't be back today."

"Christ," Johnny muttered as he slammed the door shut behind them. He shucked out of his jacket and cap and tossed them aside before stomping into the kitchen. Bull heard the crash of a kettle put on a stovetop with considerable force.

Bull looked at Bill who just shrugged and bent to take his boots off. Bull felt like he should do the same, but he felt frozen. He thought he understood what the two of them wanted, but it didn't seem any more real than waking up in the barracks and feeling like he was still in Normandy, waiting for the next fight. There wasn't a hell of a lot that had felt real recently.

Before Bull had done more than undo his laces, Johnny had stomped back into the hall, looked him over and muttered, "Christ," again.

"Johnny," Bill said, an edge of warning in his voice. Bull had heard him talk to his boys like that, usually when they were about to do something even Bill thought was dumb, but never to Johnny.

"So fucking stupid," Johnny muttered, falling back to the door to the kitchen. He wasn't much drier than Bull and still had his boots on, but didn't seem like he was about to do anything about either of those things.

"You talking about him or you?" Bill asked.

Johnny sighed. "Shit, I don't know."

"What a mess," Bill muttered.

By then, Bull had gotten his boots off, and he stood again. He was plucking at the buttons of his blouse when Bill pulled him forward towards the kitchen. Johnny stepped out of the way, and the three of them sat around the small table. Bull decided it would be better if he started this off on the right foot, and said, "I don't know what I was thinking talking to you like that. I didn't mean to be putting my nose in your business," and on realising that his actions so far that day made that a complete lie, added, "I worry after you, is all. You two get in enough trouble as it is."

Bill waved that off as if he liked spending half his weekends peeling potatoes. "Listen, Bull, me and Johnny have a good time, but it ain't nothing serious enough to risk our stripes over, right? We both got girls back home, this is just..." Bill shrugged, like most normal men spent every minute glued to another man's hip, and every free minute on his knees. "It's safer than chasing skirts, and cheaper too."

Johnny sent Bill a sideways glance, and Bull wondered if he had a different view of the whole thing, but he didn't say anything to indicate that, just offered half a shrug and went back to studying Bull.

"I understand," Bull said, though Bill hadn't convinced him that it wasn't more than that. "Ain't my concern," he said again.

"Well that's the thing," Bill said. The kettle started to whistle, and Johnny got up to make coffee, but Bill carried on like he wasn't in the room. "The reason we took so long to hook up was Johnny had half an eye on you, but you didn't seem interested."

"Oh," Bull said quietly. He really had missed his chance then. Maybe that was for the best. He didn't think that were he involved with Johnny it would just be playing for time until they all got back to their girls. Though Bull was kidding himself if he claimed that he wouldn't take Johnny, or Bill, on any terms he could get them.

"But I kept catching you watching him," Bill continued, making Bull blush to think that _he_ had been the obvious one, "so I said to Johnny, 'hey, looks like the Bull there wants a piece of you too.' Since I don't mind sharing, we figured we'd ask you, but then you said you wasn't interested, so I figured it must have been a misunderstanding, and off we went without you. But now I'm thinking we was maybe too careful when it came to doing the asking, and you didn't understand, is that right?"

Bull wasn't entirely sure he believed what he was hearing, but Johnny wasn't showing his usual signs of wanting to correct Bill, so Bull asked, "You was asking if I'd like to mess around with the both of you?"

"Sure," Bill said with a shrug. "Or me, or Johnny, or one after the other. Didn't have to be both at once. Figured we could work out the details once we was in London."

"Oh," Bull said again. Funny how much time a man could spend watching someone and turn not to have been seeing them at all. "Guess I didn't figure out that's what you were saying," he said, knowing how pathetic that must sound.

"Well ain't that fucking obvious," Johnny grumbled, slamming three mugs of coffee down so hard the black liquid sloshed out of them. He sighed explosively, and added, "Look, if you're still interested, we'd still have you, all right?"

Bull's brain was still catching up with what was going on, but he reached across the table and took Johnny's hand, and then after a moment's hesitation took Bill's too. "Y'all seemed so happy to me, just one with the other. I couldn't see how you'd need me."

"If you keep up like that, we'll figure it out," Johnny snapped, and Bill elbowed him. "Look, I know this ain't how normal men go about things, but I don't see why adding a good thing to a good thing would mess it up. If you don't wanna, you just gotta say, and we'll let you be." He squeezed Bull's hand back, somehow that gentle pressure still Bull's spinning thoughts enough to let him figure out that if he didn't say something now he'd be the biggest fool in the whole war.

"I want to," he said, "You got no idea how long I wanted this."

Bill threw up his free hand in a gesture of exasperation, or maybe supplication to God for mercy, and muttered, "Finally!"

"Really?" Johnny was grinning at him, the smile eating up his whole face; even with his hair plastered into a sodden mess, and eyes bloodshot from the bender he'd just been on, he was the most beautiful thing Bull had ever seen. Bill pretended to sigh at how stupid they both were, but he was smiling too, and looking at Bull in a way that Bull had never imagined would be meant for him some day.

"I been sick jealous," Bull added. "All these years, and... Christ."

"Come on," Johnny told him, and stood, he drew Bull forward same as Bill had guided him out of the woods, this time pulling towards Bill's bedroom. "Let's not waste another minute."

Bull certainly couldn't think of any argument against that, and let himself be pulled. He was flushing already with the thought of what might happen. All those images of Bill and Johnny together that he'd built over the years, and now he could be a part of that too. He'd had sex before, but usually the furtive kind in parks or other cruising spots: a shove against the wall, hands down each other's pants, someone on their knees in a latrine. He'd been aware of orgies in the bathhouses, and so on, but never quite dared to participate. Nothing he'd done had been at all like the kind of love making that Bull had pictured Bill and Johnny engaged in. He knew that he was going to sound like a rube, but he had to ask anyway, "How's this going to work?"

"Well you see," Bill started, in the tone of someone explaining to a child, and Bull sighed. He supposed he had that coming.

"With three, I mean, I ain't never..."

They were in the bedroom now, which Bull had seen before when they'd all been over for cards or just to shoot the shit. He'd seen that Bill—or more likely Johnny—had scrounged a bed big enough for two, and had certainly thought about what being in it rather than sitting on the edge of might be like.

"I don't know," Bill said, "What do you like?"

Johnny's hand was warm in his, and he'd stopped in front of the bed and turned to face Bull, his smile a little shy now, eyes turned down. Bull had never pictured Johnny as anything less than bold, and his chest tightened at the idea that he cared enough about what Bull thought to be nervous about this.

Bull touched the side of Johnny's neck, and said softly, "I can't say how happy I'd be to do anything either of you wanted."

"Jesus Christ," Bill whispered. He put a hand on Bull's shoulder, tugging like he wanted to pull him around to face him, but Johnny already had his arms around Bull's neck and was pulling him down for a kiss. Bull took hold of Johnny's hips, and without parting their lips, Johnny jumped to wrap his legs around Bull's hips.

Their mouths fit together perfectly at that angle, and Bull grabbed a double handful of his ass as they moaned against each other. He was so caught up in the feel of Johnny's hard cock against his stomach and how Bull could just rub off on Johnny's ass, if he wanted to, that he almost didn't notice Bill stepping in close behind him and wrapping his arms around Bull's chest. Bill kissed the back of Bull's neck, and then started undoing the buttons of Bull's blouse. When he had them all undone, he and Johnny both pushed it off of Bull's shoulders. The shirt made a tangle, as Bull couldn't get it off his arms without dropping Johnny, and he was pretty sure that he was never going to let go in the rest of his life, but having his shoulders bare let Bill kiss them and run his hands up and down Bull's chest with only the soaked undershirt in the way. Bull hadn't noticed how cold he was until their hands were all over him.

Johnny was still kissing him through all that, his mouth hot and heavy against Bull's demanding everything from him. He kept risking toppling backwards by running his hands through Bull's hair, pushing trails of water down Bull's neck. Bull couldn't tell which of them was making louder, more obscene groans, but he did know he was glad there was a bed right there. He just had to figure out how to get on to it so he could get his pants off.

"Hey, my turn," Bill said in his ear, pushing lightly at Johnny's shoulder.

Johnny broke away from Bull long enough to lean down and kiss Bill's hand, and Bill turned it to cup the side of Johnny's face. They exchanged another look, and whatever it said made Johnny ask, "You want Guarnere too?"

"Yeah," Bull said, throat rough with need and the breathlessness of all that kissing.

"Let's go then," Bill said, and Johnny hopped down off Bull's waist, but kept his hold on Bull's neck. Bull bent to kiss him again, while Bill stripped his shirt off and dumped it on the floor. His undershirt followed, and then his belt before Johnny dropped to a crouch in front of Bull to pull his trousers and skivvies off.

Bill was still kissing Bull's neck and running his hands up and down his bare chest. His damp uniform was cool against Bull's back, but that wasn't what left a trail of goosebumps across his skin. When Johnny had gotten Bull's pants down to his thighs, Bill took hold of Bull's hips and ground his cock forward. Bull's breath caught, and he felt heat flooding across his skin. How he could be hot and shivering and flushed and dizzy all at the same time he had no idea. He felt almost as if he were caught in a fever dream, but if that were the case, it was better than when he'd had the mumps as a child.

"Comere," Bill said, pulling at Bull's shoulder until he turned to face him. It was distracting being kissed while Johnny was on his knees behind him pulling his pants off. More distracting than Bill's hands on his ass, and the realisation that he was the only one not wearing anything. His cock stood out, pushing against Bill's belt, but Bill didn't seem to notice for kissing Bull, mouth just as eager as Johnny's had been.

"Lord," Bull moaned as Bill dragged his nails up his back. His skin felt alight with sensation: Bill's teeth on his lips, Johnny's hair brushing the small of his back while his hands ran up and down Bull's legs, the feeling of his blood racing through him, filling the room with heat and desire. He started to unbutton Bill's blouse, wanting to feel skin against skin, and he could feel Bill smiling as he kissed him. Behind him, Johnny stood, and Bull moaned at the loss of touch until he heard Johnny's belt clink and understood that he was getting undressed as well.

Bill stood on his toes a little to look over Bull's shoulder and grinned at what he saw. Bull wanted to look too, but he was busy trying to hold Bill still enough to get his pants open, and his chest hurt a bit from how hard his heart was pounding, or maybe it was just from how hard he was. Bull wrapped his arms around Bill and pulled them tight together so that they're skin was hot against each other. They were both still damp from the rain, and Bull would have sworn he saw steam rising off of them. He kissed Bill again, but it only lasted a moment before Bill pulled away enough to ask, "You ever been screwed?"

Bull nodded slightly, throat too tight to speak.

"You like it?"

"Ye—" Bull had to clear his throat. "Yeah."

"Guess what we're gonna do," Bill said.

Bull turned again, and let Bill push him towards the bed. Johnny was pulling the covers back to make room for them, then getting in ahead of Bull. It was a tight fit with all three of them, but that just gave Bull an excuse to wrap his arms around Johnny and pull him tight to his chest. He should've asked what Johnny liked, what Bull should do for him to make him feel good, but letting the others guide him was just too easy. If Johnny wanted something from Bull, he'd ask for it, or just take it. Either way, Bull wouldn't object. He kissed Johnny, cupping his cheek in his palm, wanting the moment to last forever. But then Johnny shuffled away, moving down the bed. Bull didn't understand, not until Johnny got their dicks lined up and a hand wrapped around them both. It was harsh and a little too tight. Bull didn't say anything, but it must have shown on his face because Johnny asked Bill for the slick, when he was done with it.

Bull had lost track of what Bill was doing. The bed squeaked behind him, and Bill's hand rested on his ass, fingers already slick. They really weren't wasting a minute. Bill handed the tin to Johnny, and Bull felt his attention pulled from Johnny slicking up his hand and grabbing their cocks again, to Bill's fingers toying with his hole. Bull closed his eyes, then opened them again, not wanting to miss a moment of Johnny looking up at him with wide green eyes, watching his face expectantly. His lips were parted, and his cheeks flushed dark, and he looked exactly like Bull had always imagined he would.

"Johnny?" Bull asked, his voice going a little high on the end as Johnny pumped his hand back and forth at the same time as Bill pushed a finger into Bull's ass.

Johnny didn't answer, just breathed out harsh sigh, but Bull knew from his face that he'd give Bull anything he wanted just then.

"Can you mark me?" Bull asked. He would have blushed at how stupid it sounded, but he was already flushed too dark for that to make any difference; instead, he turned his face towards the pillow.

Bill muttered something against Bull's back and drove his fingers in deeper, making Bull cry out, but Johnny answered by putting his lips to Bull's collarbone and nipping almost hard enough to draw blood. The sudden pain shot through Bull's body, and he choked back a scream at the same moment as his hips jerked forward, thrusting into Johnny's hand.

"There we go." Bill's laugh was wet against Bull's skin, and now his teeth too grazed over his skin, catching on the point of Bull's shoulder blade and sinking down just as Bill spread his fingers wide inside Bull and pumped them sharply back and forth. Johnny squeezed down at the same moment, and sucked at the same spot he'd bitten.

It was too much. They'd barely touched Bull, and he'd wanted this to last longer, to linger with their touches, but already it was too much. Bull twisted his face to muffle his cry against the pillow and spilled all over Johnny's hand. He gritted his teeth, years of clandestine sex having trained his body to as close to silence as he could get. He only realised he'd stopped breathing when his body forced him into a rough gasp for air.

Johnny had buried his face against Bull's chest, no longer sucking to raise a mark, but breathing raggedly as his hips thrust into his fist. He still had a hold of Bull's cock, and his movements were jerky and rough enough to bring tears to Bull's eyes, but he didn't think they felt bad, either. He was having a hard time naming what he was feeling, other than that they both had their hands all over him, and he didn't want it to stop. He shook his head against the pillow when Bill pulled his fingers out of his ass, but froze when he felt Bill's dick pressing into him. He hadn't let anyone do this for a long time, and the stretch dragged a whimper out of him. It didn't hurt so much as made everything he was doing feel that much more real.

Bull couldn't quite believe that he had Bill slowly screwing into him at the same time as Johnny thrust their dicks together and panted harshly against his chest. He couldn't believe that he was actually in bed with the two men he cared about most in all the world, and that the whole world was floating around him in a pleasure so intense his mind couldn't name it.

He lifted his leg a little to give Bill more room and wrapped his arm around Johnny's shoulders to pull him in tight. Johnny's breath hitched with every thrust now, and Bull could tell he was right on the edge, so he bent his head to kiss his temple and murmur, "That's right, you come for me, now. That's real good."

Johnny came apart, crying out against Bull's chest, and Bull held him close, both of their bodies rocking as Bill took hold of Bull's hip and started to thrust into him. As Bull had guessed, Bill wasn't quiet.

"You got any idea how long I been thinking about this ass of yours?" he asked; his teeth still grazed Bull's shoulder blade, but he wasn't biting down any more. Bull didn't figure that was a question that needed an answer, so he just let Bill carry on, telling him all the different times he'd looked at Bull and wanted to fuck him, all the different ways too. Johnny was laughing against Bull's chest now, seeming to love every word Bill lavished on Bull.

Bull'd never known what to do with that kind of praise, had rarely gotten it anyhow, so he just kept a tight hold of Johnny and was glad Bill didn't seem to expect him to answer. He buried his nose in Johnny's hair and kissed his forehead. His skin tasted more of sweat than of rain by now, but was still sweet to Bull's mind.

Bill didn't take long to come. They'd all three been too riled up to last long, and even Bill's monologue broke down into ragged profanity as his hips stuttered and his body started to shake. His fingers dug into Bull's hips hard enough to bruise, and Bull smiled into Johnny's hair as Bill filled him.

Bull waited until Bill finished gasping and swearing against his back, and pushed him away enough to roll over to the middle of the bed. From there, he could pull both Bill and Johnny so they were resting their heads on his shoulders and put an arm around the both of them. They didn't seem to mind being shoved about, instead rolling forward so that they each threw a thigh over his hip and joined their hands on top of Bull's chest. Johnny reached down and yanked the blankets over top of all of them. Bull sighed and closed his eyes. He wanted to drift off, wrapped in the comfort of everything he'd ever wanted, but he supposed they should talk.

"Was that all right?" he asked eventually. It'd certainly felt good, but he didn't think he'd done much, more he'd let the others do what they liked to him.

"Fuck," Johnny groaned against Bull's chest, and Bill laughed.

"It was just fine," Bill said. He leaned in and kissed the spot Johnny had bitten. "But if you didn't like it, we got plenty of time to try something else."

"He liked it fine," Johnny muttered, sounding like he'd rather go to sleep than anything else.

"I liked it fine," Bull agreed, but couldn't help asking, "What else?"

Bill tapped his fingers against Bull's chest as he talked, counting off, "Wanna get my mouth on your dick, for starters, and want to see what you look like when you're screwing Johnny. We could take turns on that one, or he'll wear us out. Wanna see Johnny ride you too, maybe while I fuck you at the same time..." He went on like that until he'd tapped all his fingers a few times, and Bull's head was filled with a whole new set of images, ones that showed him that what he'd pictured before had really been quite tame compared to the reality of what Bill and Johnny got up to. A thrill ran down Bull's spine even as the lassitude that followed orgasm pulled him towards sleep.

"I'd like that," Bull murmured.

"Which part?" Bill asked with interest, and even Johnny raised his head a little to hear the answer.

"All of it, I guess," Bull told them. He hadn't really been listening, and didn't mind one way or another. What mattered was that they were together.

He wanted to lie there holding them both, safe and warm forever. They could wake up in an hour or so and work on trying everything on Bill's list, or they could just sleep like that together like they'd been trapped in fairyland. They could never think about the war again, save that Bull was thinking about it even here, and even now. He tightened his hold on Johnny's shoulders and buried his face in his hair.

He still had the soft burn of the bite on his collarbone; he'd have that tomorrow, still, even as the feeling of looseness in his ass faded.

"That why you got them tattoos?" Bull asked, "So you'd remember it like this, even when we're back in it?"

Johnny nipped at Bull's other collarbone in response, giving him a matching mark on his left side. Bill laughed against Bull's chest and raised his arm to examine the pink skin and blue lines of the parachute. "Nah," he concluded on studying them, "We got them 'cause we was drunker than sixteen skunks. But I guess they'll do that too."

"I ain't getting one," Bull put in before Bill could ask him. "Don't like hurting more than I have to."

Neither of them had asked, and Bull didn't know why he'd said that last part. He wondered if he should say something about how he wasn't likely to be the most peaceful bedmate they'd ever had. He didn't want to admit his weakness, even here. Everyone else was more or less managing their troubles, and Bull should be as well; he should feel grateful to be alive and unharmed and most of all wrapped in the arms of two people who cared about him.

"Nah, you don't need to," Johnny said, like he could read Bull's mind. "We like you fine as you is."

"I..." Bull tried to say, then trailed off, out of words for what he really felt. "I like you too," he concluded. He hoped it was enough, that it would be enough the next day, and the next.

"Well that's fucking good," Johnny snapped, his breath puffing against Bull's chest as he started to laugh.

"'Bout time," Bill agreed. He started to wiggle down the bed, seeming to have decided that they'd rested enough, and he was moving onto item one: sucking Bull's dick. Bull closed his eyes and sank his hand into Bill's hair guiding him down his body as he worked under the covers. Johnny half crawled on top of Bull and started to kiss him.

Bull kissed him back, burying his hands in Johnny's hair like he'd always dreamed of doing, and wondered if maybe he could keep piling good memories onto bad, until he finally made things right. It seemed worth trying. Sometimes, miracles occurred.


End file.
